


Undone

by moonboyramblings



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, i love creepy old men can you tell, slight mentions of beverly and jack, will needs to take his medication 2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonboyramblings/pseuds/moonboyramblings
Summary: A very small ficlet of a lost session between Will Graham and Doctor Hannibal Lecter.  Our good Doctor takes advantage of an exhausted Will and seizes the chance to sketch his exhausted little friend. Will isn't amused (but when is he ever?) with how their appointment goes.





	Undone

Will has brief flashes of memory now and then,  mostly of his mother; in his slumbering hours, the memories he cannot quite remember pale in the morning light,  all the monsters that surely once stood in his corners now tucked up under the bed where they will stay until Will falls victim to his exhaustion.  Some nights the recollection is something he cannot make out, and thus, does not try to pursue. This is not one of those nights.

His mind works tirelessly,  even under the guise of a calm exterior. 

 

He makes sure to display a cool apathy,  eyelids heavily blinking back sleep with every nod of his head.  Will is aware of his surroundings, always seems to be aware of himself more than usual when Hannibal is in the room alongside him.  Will nods upon being prompted to do so,  always slightly in tune with the older man's clipped questions and drawn out explanations.

Nod when prompted. 

_Now cross the ankles._

Will crosses his ankles,  only giving a slight fuss when his bad shoulder bares the brunt of his weight to shift himself more comfortably in his chair.  Hannibal does not spare the slight interruption any ill - will and instead focuses on catching his attention once more:  this time with the soft closing of his leather-bound book,  pen drawn up in between the pages so as to suggest he is impatient.  

Will almost cares.

"Tell me,  would it be rude to assume it is mutually beneficial for us to cut our meeting short?"   Hannibal, ever the Saint, leans forward to catch the other's gaze.

Will immediately refuses this and instead leans his forehead into his palm, neck bent and fingers massaging his eyelids morosely. Will almost makes it seem natural,  the way the yawn follows;   it's not much out of the way of truth,  he  _was_  quite exhausted. 

"Will?" He presses softly,  a soft click soon following after he does so. 

When Will opens his eyes and raises his head, Hannibal has shut off the lamp at his elbow. The light diffuses morbidly against the tall ceilings,  against the crackling fireplace and the stacks up on the second floor. It does nothing to help with the plaguing fatigue that's suddenly come over him,  a spell of sudden drowsiness he can't help but want to sink into.

"Yeah, yeah." His tone is impatient,  mirroring Hannibal's in a way that almost isn't curt. 

Almost.

Hannibal almost seems  _pleased_  by this.

"Do you have another after me?"  

The good Doctor slightly exhales, pleasantly regarding the question as if he were  _asking him to dance_  and not  _if he were being a nuisance_  by simply refraining from participating in his own social rehabilitation.   "No. Your appointment is last in my day, I'm sure this suits your schedule just fine?" 

The question is arbitrarily polite,  both eyes trained on the agent and not at the clock;  the clock that  _suggests_  Will has another 43 minutes until his guilt will let him leave without becoming a nuisance.   

"Actually, I was thinking about how good that couch looks right about now." 

Something akin to bashful pleasure cuts across both of their expressions.  Will finally meets Hannibal's gaze,  only for it to flit away a moments later.  The doctor, however, does not stop himself from gorging on the morbid way the man's cheeks fill with color at his admission, embarrassment something of a rarity for the empath. 

"My chaise lounge?"  

The older glances over to the honey hued chaise lounge,  admiring the way the light makes it's rich color deeper. Like blood in honey, just the slightest hint that something may not be truly  _right_.  

"You may."  

Will doesn't  **need**  the permission,  but despite his natural aversion to authority in general? It's slightly off for him to simply accept this offer,   to accept any allowance at all. But the lack of light beckons him out of his chair slowly, just slightly wincing at the twinge in his shoulder.  It's a relief, almost. Will knows he has to come up with an excuse before he falls asleep, not at all accounting of the fact that he does not have a good relationship with this part of his life;  that his psychiatrist's office is not the place for a goddamn nap.  

"Will?" 

Hannibal's deep maroon eyes watch the agent pull himself up from the chair across from his own. Will seems stiff. His medication should keep him from feeling anything at all, Hannibal made sure.  He knows that it wouldn't be out of nature for Will to become a martyr to his own aging body, he could be quite dramatic in the right light.

He notes the way that the agent favors his left side and lowers himself instead on his right shoulder, facing Hannibal but with his eyes on the dancing light on the floor.  It takes a few seconds for his answer to come, "Spare me the bedside manner for a few minutes, will you. I just need a quick shut - eye. Wolftrap's kinda far. Jack was an asshole. Beverly looks at me like i'm a kicked puppy. Is that enough for your little black book?"  

Will physically bites his tongue to keep anymore malice from slipping out. 

 

Indeed, so. Hannibal doesn't answer. 

He waits in his chair for the breathing to even,  for his eye's to slip closed and begin searching for peace under his bruised lids. 

The doctor lifts his chin slightly in the slumbering agent's direction,  let's the sound of his heaving breathing mask the soft sigh that the chair makes when he stands. 

Hannibal makes his way around the office,  from lamp to lamp until the only source of light was his own desk lamp and fireplace.  He moves effortlessly silent. He is but a whisper behind the curtains, does not even wake Will when he pulls a drawer open;   when he pulls out another black, leather book and begins to sketch.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hannibal tells him it's been three hours. 

 

Sweat has gathered behind his ears, a chill in his spine.  Will does not jolt awake per his  _usual_  introduction back into consciousness, but rather only  _just_  realizes he's awake. The ceiling is darker than Will remembers.  

The shadows along the wall have crawled farther into the space, moonlight on the far wall and on Hannibal. 

It's immediate: they're eyes meet. His own are, no doubt, still hazy with sleep.  The older man's eyes are focused,  mouth a mundane crook to suggest amusement.

Will sits up quickly, sharply inhaling, allowing himself as much as a stretch as his sore shoulder would allow.

"Good evening."  Hannibal pleasantly interrupts the book he's got in the crook of his hands,   _oh so meticulously planned for this very moment_.   He had let him sleep longer purposefully,  Will wants to remark on this but chooses not to. 

An alert expression shifts from his dazed one, he quickly stands and looks around to see if he's left anything behind.  

"What could ever be wrong, my dear boy?"  

"My dogs. I haven't been home all day." The way he says it is rushed, pupils suddenly blown in panic;  he does not even berate himself, nor Hannibal, for sleeping too long. He just collects his coat and buttons the fleece crookedly,  stuffing his wallet into the deep pockets. 

"Look, I'm sorry. Next time just tell me to grab a redbull and head home."  Will wipes the sweat from his brow, pressing his unruly hair further up his forehead.

"Next time?" Hannibal presses, always a flare for having the last word. Will slams the door. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends its 20-bi-teen hannibal and will are bi as fuck


End file.
